


The Long Road

by TheStraggletag



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 4x11 AU, Angst, F/M, Hint at happy ending in epilogue, Hopeful Ending, Rumbelle Secret Santa, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2019, rss 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21895372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStraggletag/pseuds/TheStraggletag
Summary: After failing to make Rumple cross the town line he and Belle must try and deal with the consequences of their actions. Season 4 AU set in episode 11 and after.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eilinelithil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eilinelithil/gifts).



“Belle, what are you doing?”

It all went so wrong so fast. Months of planning, of sneaking about in the shadows, of putting plans into motion and seeing them through. He’d gotten sloppy, perhaps, when it looked like he was heading towards an inevitable victory. Complacent. And in the blink of an eye everything seemed to have unravelled.

“Finally facing the truth.”

It pained him, the way her voice shook, the way her eyes shone with unshed tears. Belle was usually so sunny and carefree, so unfailingly strong, that it was jarring to see her otherwise. But that expression, wary and worried and increasingly sad, had been stealing over her face more and more during the past few weeks. He’d ignored it, because in the end it’d all be worth it. In the end he’d be able to give her anything she wanted. To travel and explore, to have the world if she so desired it.

“Please… put the dagger down, and let me explain.”

It was a testament to his fear of the dagger that even in Belle’s hands it made him choke in fear. But underneath the sickeningly familiar panic of being controlled there was another layer of dread as he saw his wife on the verge of breaking down, of being shattered by the realisation of his deception.

Haltingly, he tried to explain. Tried to show her his most vulnerable side, a side he usually strove to hide out of shame. Told her about how it felt, being controlled. Being a puppet pulled this way and that by someone else’s will. Alluded, in the only way he could, indirectly and stilted, to what he had endured under Zelena’s clutches. In the middle of the explanation he noticed her start crying, and felt vindictive pleasure and acute distress about causing her pain.

“And yes, I like power, but there’s nothing wrong with that.” He grew defensive and desperate as Belle kept the dagger raised between them, and the town line at his back. “Not when it means that I… that we can have it all.”

He would wonder later, much later, whether that was a simple slip of the tongue or if it was evidence that, though he had told himself often enough that everything he did was for them, for their happiness, that had been a lie.

“I just wanted you.”

His vision blurred at her choked up confession, and how clearly foolish he thought herself to be for wanting just him. He’d only ever known selfless love in the form of his child, his Bae. Everyone else had always let him down. Life had taught him that he was unlovable and that people who said otherwise were not to be trusted. So he’d protected himself by being sceptic of declarations of love. He hadn’t thought about how by protecting himself he had been hurting Belle. By doubting her love, by seeing himself as not enough, he had, in a way, rejected her.

“I just wanted to be chosen. To be enough.”

She took a few steps forward, forcing him closer to the town line, to the world without magic.

“Please, Belle, please. I won’t be able to come back.”

“I know.”

“I don’t wanna lose you. Belle please.”

It was strange, to discover that to be his prime fear. If he went over the town line he’d lose his powers, and even his ability to walk properly. He had no cane and as far as he knew the town was far away from any signs of civilisation. He had a little money in his wallet, but not much. All of that should have been at the forefront of his mind. Or even the fact that Bae was buried in Storybrooke and if he left he’d never be able to visit his son’s grave again. But all those fears were eclipsed by the sheer horror of being parted from Belle. Of having their life together cut short. 

She kept advancing, but the sight of his own tears was making her waver.

“Please, Belle, please. I’m afraid.”

The last admission made her pause, and a second later the dagger clattered to the pavement between them, Belle muttering about how she couldn’t do it. The sheer relief was immediate and disorienting, the adrenaline leaving him shaky before his magically-heightened metabolism burned it out of his blood entirely. With a flick of his hand he transported the dagger to his house, wary of the safe at his shop that everyone seemed to be aware of now. Then he knelt beside Belle and gingerly wrapped her in his arms, trying to avoid thinking about how she flinched and tensed up. She was distraught and needed care. Needed to get out of there.

“Let me take you home, sweetheart.”

He could fix things. He was sure of it. He had time now, and opportunity. He’d make it up to Belle, make things right somehow, and put his plan back into motion. Surely there was some other way to cleave himself from the dagger. Or a way to power up the Sorcerer’s hat without permanently doing away with the fairies, for Belle’s sake. But first he needed to take care of her. She was limp in his arms, lifeless. He didn’t like it at all.

“Alright.”

Her voice never rose above a whisper, but it was good enough for him. Gently he took her in his arms and let a burgundy cloud of magic transport them back to the pink Victorian. The familiar setting and put him further at ease, though it barely seemed to register with Belle. He led her up the stairs, telling her she’d feel better after a good night of rest. He’d see about releasing the fairies when he knew better how the hat worked, confident he could find a roundabout way of powering it. He chose to take her silence as a sign she was listening and felt a surge of confidence not even dampened by Belle recoiling from their shared bedroom and locking herself up in the opposite room, not looking at him in the eyes. She just needed time. They both did. It was all too raw and fresh still, and she was too rattled by events. She’d be okay. They’d be okay.

* * *

He felt different weeks later, though he didn’t allow himself to dwell too much on the growing dread creeping up his spine. Things had become incredibly tense inside the house. Outside, of course, no one was much amused by his latest actions, but there was little they could do about it except disapproved, and he didn’t much care about the town’s judgement of himself. But he did care about what Belle thought, and as the days progressed he gained very little insight into what that was. She had withdrawn into herself, keeping mostly to her bedroom or the library at home for the first few weeks. Reading and sleeping were the only things she did voluntarily, everything else he needed to softly cajole her into, including eating and sometimes bathing.

Though she didn’t seek him out, she did not flinch away from him as he feared she would, though she did recoil whenever he used magic. He attempted to give her space to process things whilst simultaneously encouraging her to eat, drink water and look after herself, despite her attempts to refuse his help. Not even telling her about him releasing the fairies seemed to provoke much of a reaction, though it had been a solid step towards getting Henry to talk to him again. 

In spite of his best efforts she grew thinner, enough that it showed in her face, bringing a sharpness to her features he’d never seen before, even in the days after she’d escaped Regina’s mental asylum prison. But just as he was about to slink towards Dr Hopper’s office in search for advice with a side of threatening to keep the good old bug quiet things changed, abruptly. She started eating more, started dressing up and going out once more. To see friends, he guessed, or go to the library, maybe getting it ready to open to the public once more. There was a determined air about her, a spark that had been missing, and he thanked every god he knew for it, for that first true evidence that she would get better. That they could eventually sort themselves out, give themselves a chance. 

As the Dark One he didn’t need to sleep. But he still did it, more a remnant of his past human life than anything. But deep sleep, the sort that felt like being dead to the world, wasn’t the sort of rest he could get with his curse. Part of him was always vigilant, always aware to an extent of his surroundings. So he noticed right away when she entered his- their- room, even though she made nary a sound. 

He forced himself to lay still, afraid to scare her off. She lingered a bit near the door, as if on the verge of a decision, before padding across the room to the right side of the bed, her side. She slipped under the covers and tentatively inched her way towards his side. The scent of the cream she usually rubbed over her skin before sleeping- lavender and something else, something soothing- hit him first, followed by her warmth. It was both comforting and arousing, but he willed himself not to move, afraid of ruining whatever was happening.

“I miss you, Rumple.”

She didn’t speak till she was all but plastered to his side, her voice rough, as if from disuse. He never knew if it was the fact that she was talking to him again or the words she spoke, but whatever was broke the last shreds of his self-controlled and silence the voice on the back of his head that kept telling him that what he was about to do was stupid and rash and he needed to be slow and patience if he ever wanted to make things right between them. 

He turned around, one hand going around her waist, the gesture as natural as breathing. His nose found her forehead, nuzzling against her hairline and breathe in the scent of her hair. She hummed in satisfaction, one of her legs hooking over his waist, a gesture that was achingly familiar. He tightened his hold on her waist, feeling the soft silk of her nightgown against his skin and dared to trace a light path with his lips across her eyelids and down her cheek, stopping just short of her lips. 

For a moment it stayed that way, both of them tense and unsure. Finally, after what felt like ages but must have been only a couple of seconds, Belle shifted her way forward the slightest bit, pressing her mouth against his. It was an agonizingly-slow kiss, both of them still tense and unsure but when Belle made a small, whimpery sort of sound, one he knew well, he snapped. He needed this, needed her. Fuck the consequences. Fuck everything. If she wanted him, for whatever reason, he was not going to stop her or deny her.

He shifted up and sideways till he was straddling her, her waist between his knees. He slid a hand into the glorious softness that was her hair, tipping her head up to kiss her deeper, crowing in triumph when she opened up to him, the surrender exhilarating. When he wrapped his hands against her wrists to hold her arms down he didn’t sense a single bit of fear from her. The spike in her pulse was accompanied by a sweet, slow moan and followed by her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him even closer to her. 

She struggled against his hold, but there was no fear or panic in her actions, only excitement and want. He nipped at her collarbone in retaliation when she flipped them over, and somehow it all devolved into a playful tousle, a sort of fight with mouths and teeth and tongues and hands taking pieces of clothing as trophies. She claimed his pajama top first, though not with all of its buttons attached, which only caused him to kiss her deeper. The silk of her nightgown was strong, but no match for his frustration and the enhanced strength of his limbs, granted by his inhuman nature, and so it was but the work of a minute to have the scrap of silk gathering dust on the floor. 

The increased skin-to-skin contact made things more desperate, more frantic. Nails sunk on bits of flesh, hands tugged on locks of hair and teeth nipped at spots later soothed by a soft tongue and a few words whispered into the night. He didn’t notice they were both fully naked until his aching cock came into contact with the warmth of Belle’s wet cunt, the feeling making his toes curl and his entire body shudder. This, he thought, this is where he belonged. 

“Please, Rumple…”

Her voice was a needy, low growl, her accent thick. One of her legs wrapped around his waist again, urging him along, and he was powerless to deny her, to dent them. He sunk into her, relief singing in his veins, and forced himself to spend a few moments getting used to the feel of her around him, enveloping him. She grew still too, tightly wrapping her arms around her shoulders and tucking her head on the crook of his shoulder, seemingly seeking as much contact as possible. It highlighted how apart they had grown, this newfound intimacy, this reminder of how it ought to be between them. He sought her mouth with his, rocking his hips gently to try and encourage her to reciprocate, soon building a delicious rhythm together. Though he had thought they were both too keyed up to last long the moment seemed to prolong indefinitely, the ebb and flow of pleasure between them, the tightening of muscles and tingling of nerve endings. Finally Belle pushed him back till he was lying down and increased the speed and force of their thrusts, riding him with increased abandon as she called out his name, their hands entwined and keeping her upright.

He knew exactly the moment she came, not only because she felt her cunt spasm around his cock, but because he saw it on her face, the complete abandonment and peace that washed over her features. It was her expression, more than anything else, that took him over the edge a moment or two later, back arching even as Belle slumped against him, sweaty and spent. 

“I love you, Belle.”

It was a stupid thing to blurt out, all things considered, but the orgasm had made him careless, made him feel like all was like before between them. Though he expected her to push him away and exit the room she did not react at first, remaining warm and lose above him, a comforting weight. Perhaps she was asleep, and had not heard him. Perhaps, if he stayed still and quiet, she would stay in the room till morning, perhaps if-

“I love you too, Rumple. So much.”

Her hands tightened around him, and it was enough to make him ignore the tear or two that hit the skin of his shoulder. They were going to be alright. They had to be alright.

They would be alright.

* * *

He didn’t panic at first, when he woke up the next day to find her gone. She was keen to avoid him from time to time, still, and he was reluctant to make her feel pressured or crowded by him. He went about his day as usual, which meant going to his shop to continue his research on the hat and alternative means of powering it. The work absorbed him, making it easy for him to ignore the niggling worry on the back of his mind, the vague notion of dread building up slowly.

He discovered a couple of promising leads, nothing quite definitive, but a few vague hints at alternative methods of magical energy output that could potentially work. He had the advantage of possessing the hat, which helped him further expand the Dark Ones’s knowledge of its nature and the way it worked. He expected his predecessors to have loud and varied opinions on his success- they were a sensitive lot- but to his surprise everything was silent in his head. He could usually achieve somewhat of a quiet headspace if he concentrated, something he had perfected over centuries, but never to this extent. He reached out, trying to get a feel for Zoso at least, who was the easiest to reach, but couldn’t find more than a muffled echo of his presence. Perhaps it was a side-effect of continuous exposure to the hat, he mused, though it had never happened before. It was a tool of the sorcerer’s, perhaps it exuded some magic that had affected him somehow.

The sense of dread grew stronger, though both its causes were unlinked. Seeing Belle would at least put to rest one of his fears, and he could concentrate later on what was going on with the other Dark Ones. The only time he’d ever felt so alone in his mind had been once he’d awoken during the curse, when there was still little to no magic in Storybrooke and the dagger’s power was nullified, though not gone.

“Belle, I’m ho-”

He knew at once the house was deserted, but a flick of his magic confirmed it anyway. It was pitch black outside, past the time where people were out and about in a small town like Storybrooke. He didn’t worry for her safety, both because there was no current active threat around and because everyone knew who she was, and who she was married to, and the one person foolish enough to disregard that and try to do her harm was currently under the somewhat questionable control of the Charmings. There was no reason to panic at the idea of Belle being out, and yet-

Something was wrong. He’d been ignoring the feeling all day, thinking it irrational, but he couldn’t deny it anymore. He sent his magic out, tendrils of it going out in all directions to try to get a feel of her presence, only to stretch to the town limits without reporting anything back. With mounting panic he went to the armoire where he kept some of his useful potions and poured a little of his best locator on a scarf of Belle’s hanging in the coat rack next to the front door. The piece of gossamer silk hovered in the air for a few seconds before it began floating away, past the open door and out into the street. He followed it past the library and Granny’s, past the sheriff’s station and the Town Hall, wondering why it didn’t stop at any of those places, why it was going past all houses and shops and into the forest. Finally it dropped like lead on the pavement right beside the bright orange spray paint line that marked the end of the town.

“No.”

She wouldn’t have done this, surely. She’d… she’d been getting better, had been slowly regaining her spirits, going out, talking to friends-

Had her, though? He hadn’t seen it, nor had he had any visitors regarding Belle. No one threatening him to do better by her or else, no one calling at the house, no mention of going to lunch or tea with Ruby or Snow or anyone else. He had assumed. He had seen Belle interact with lots of people in town and help many of them out on numerous occasions. Surely that meant that she’d confide in one of them at least.

He transported himself back to the house, sure that there had been some sort of mistake. Maybe he had brewed to potion wrong, maybe it had spoiled. Maybe it had ran out of power and Belle had been at the town line but she had turned back and was waiting for-

There was an envelope on the dining room table. Though he didn’t want to he picked it up and opened it, pausing for a second before beginning to read. She was kind, it came across every sentence. She’d taken great pains to avoid unnecessary hurt. But there was no avoiding the purpose of her letter. She’d left town. Had acquired a car, somehow, had packed some things over the last few weeks, and had left. And she’d taken the dagger with her.

She reassured him often that it was alright. She’d researched it extensively, and had left the bulk of that research available to him so he could see she was right. As long as the dagger existed he wouldn’t lose his powers. It didn’t matter if the dagger itself was in a place without magic. But if it was, it meant he could not be controlled by it. It would be just like it was when Storybrooke was under the curse except that as long as he was in a place with magic he would have his power.

She would keep it safe, she promised. And eventually hide it when no one else would ever think to look, and once she grew old and died there would be no one left with knowledge of where the dagger was. He’d be free, in practice if not in theory. There would be no repeat of Zelena, or anyone else. No being forced into cages or made to hurt those he loved.

She was honest too, with herself and with him. Didn’t pretend she was leaving solely for him, for his own benefit. She rambled a bit in those paragraphs trying to make sense of what she felt, of the guilt of putting her own feelings above the safety of the town. She loved him, all of him, and it terrified her, not because of what he could do to her but rather what she could do for him, what things she might let pass as time went on, the things she would learn to overlook or justify. It would chip away at who she was until there was nothing left.

She would never have any freedom in Storybrooke either. She would always be a means to an end to most, a way to get the Dark One’s help, willingly or not. She was destined to be a prisoner. Of people wanting to hurt him, or deal with him. Even if, by some miracle, she was never kidnapped or threatened again, the fear would still be there, always. It would keep her tethered to him, afraid to live her life the way she wanted it. Afraid of eventually being a mother. She could not condemn a child to live the life she saw before her.

Tucked away at the end, where the lines were the most blurry, was another sort of regret entirely. With difficulty and finesse Belle wrote about Zelena, and how blind she’d been to the effects her imprisonment and manipulation had left in him. She was the kindest there, tactful and gentle in a way that was uniquely Belle’s, gentle in the way she talked about his open wounds. This was a part she’d written for his benefit, an attempt to repair the damage she thought herself responsible for. 

She finished by reassuring him she would be alright. She had transferred money from their joint account into one from the outside world- she included a brief apology to Miss Swan there, for making her an unknown accomplice in her plan- and she’d bought a car, where she had packed a few essentials. It was enough for a comfortable start, for a second chance. She hoped he would also see the opportunity ahead of him to build something now that the dagger could no longer trouble him. To find peace, perhaps. To enjoy his freedom.

That word gave him pause, and for a moment the sudden stillness of his mind hit him full force. No more whispers, no more crafty manipulations or cruel taunts. Nothing cajoling him or preying on his deepest wants or fears. And no outside threat either, no one to fear, no one to control him. He was, perhaps for the first time in his life, absolutely free. Free of the dagger and of people’s judgement and expectations, of Belle and Bae’s disappointment. Free to do as he pleased, to…

Live forever.

_Alone._

He didn’t remember conjuring up his cane, or what he hit first, if it was the beveled mirror on the corner or the closed curio beside it. All that he could remember was that soon there was a sea of glass, splintered wood and broken china all around him and a horrible, howling sound, like some monstrous dying animal crying out into the night. 

It took him a long time to realise it was him.


	2. Epilogue

It was a nice street, well-lit and sprinkled with nicely-kept shops and elegant apartment buildings. He spotted the bookshop almost at once, looking somehow exactly like he had imagined it, charmingly old-fashioned, with an art nouveau-inspired sign that read “Aarne & Thompson” in large letters. The displays were all of old, mostly leather-bound books, with signs posted offering restoration and appraisal services and asking to enquire within for help in locating any hard-to-find tomes.

The window also allowed a glimpse into the front of the store, which allowed him his first glimpse of Belle in over a year. She was wearing a rose-coloured, pleated skirt he knew and a cream shirt he didn’t, and was reaching for a book on top of a ladder, making it look like her nude pumps were no hindrance whatsoever. Bellow he spotted a young buck with an expensive, flashy suit and slicked back hair, doing a bad job of pretending he was not trying to stare at places where he shouldn’t. It was a reflex to try and summon a fireball, something so instinctual it took a couple of seconds to remember he was in New York City, not Storybrooke, and this was a land with no magic. Thankfully, before he could let the feeling of impotence overtake him, a stern old lady ushered the young boy to the register, ringing him up just as Belle came down from the ladder and placed the book in a cloth bag with the store sign printed on it.

“I hope you enjoy it. Come again!”

Though he thought it best to wait for the man to leave before entering he didn’t, lingering around to try and make small talk even as Belle busied herself around the shop and the old lady, clearly one of the owners, called out to her to see to some new arrivals boxed up in the back that needed to be put on the shelves. Unwilling to lose momentum he want in, the bell above the door loudly announcing his entrance. He saw Belle turn around, perhaps eager to latch on to a new customer to finally shake off the dense Wall Street upstart still on her tail, and spot him. 

It was easy to detect the shock in her face, and he had expected it. But other than that it was difficult to read her expression, especially when a part of him was too busy taking in her beauty, and trying to pinpoint the subtle changes in her appearance. Her make-up was softer, more elegant, and she was still thinner than he remembered, but an improvement from the last time they had been together, when he had been able to feel the bumps of her vertebrae as he caressed her naked back. Belatedly realising he was standing there like a fool he raised his left hand in a gesture of peace, trying to look calm and composed.

“I… I came to talk. Do you have a moment?”

“Is this guy bothering you, sweetheart?”

The young suit made a motion to step in between them, making sure to stand as tall as possible. Rumple’s hands tightened around his cane as he tried to choke back a snarl and some choice words. 

“Of course not. He’s my husband.”

He hadn’t known what to expect when he had set out to travel to New York. Closure, perhaps, but his feelings were too complicated to discern and there was no way to know what hers would be. But hearing her call him that sent a mixture of relief and something else through him, that familiar but forgotten tug of pride mixed with arousal that he’d always felt at the notion of Belle being bound to him, of them being tied to each other. Of the fact that, for some reason, someone like her had found him worthy.

“I’m busy right now, but I get off at five. Perhaps we could have dinner?”

The old lady cleared her throat, looking between them with seculative eyes.

“Anna could cover for you if you wanted, Belle.”

His wife looked back at him, seeming to be torn.

“Thank you, Mrs Aarne, but that won’t be necessary. I mean, assuming you’re planning to stay a while? I mean, with plenty of time for us to… talk?”

That wouldn’t do at all. The only reason he’d left Storybrooke was because he had a way back in thanks to the Snow Queen. He had a flight reserved for early next morning, to make sure he spent as little time as possible in a world where he was su ridiculously powerless. Already he had had to stifle what felt like fifteen different panic attacks, necessitating him to shower the stench of sweat and fear off of him before taking a cab from the hotel to the shop. There was no need to overstay his welcome on the land without magic, not when all he wanted was one last conversation, something that would put old wounds to rest between them and-

“A week. I’m staying a week.”

He hoped his face didn’t betray his surprise at what he’d just said. Before he could regret it, though, a slow, tentative smile bloomed on Belle’s lips, one that extended all the way to her eyes. One he’d personally catalogued at the smile she reserved for him. 

“I’m glad.” She paused to brush a hand against her cheek, trying to make it look like she was wiping off a speck of dirt and not a rather obvious tear. “That you’re staying. And that came here. I… I can’t believe it.”

His answering smile felt tremulous and fragile, but also real. 

“I’m glad too. We have... a lot to talk about. Shall I pick you up here at five?”

He would need to reschedule the flight, extend his hotel stay, and likely make other arrangements, taking into account he had not packed for a lengthy stay. All bothersome and essential tasks that he could not do with a snap of his fingers, or a flicker of his wrist. He would have to endure more of the city’s insane traffic, the constant throb of his shattered ankle and the unbearable sense of vulnerability that he had felt the moment he’d stepped outside Storybrooke. And yet, somehow, he could not bring himself to care. Not when he’d caught a glimpse of the woman he loved and married in the face of his wife for the first time in months. Not when light flickered back into his vision and the city didn’t seem as terrifying all of a sudden, nor Storybrooke so tempting.

Belle had told him she wanted him to have a second chance at life. Perhaps that was possible, after all.


End file.
